Chill of Colorado
by TheUniquePenName
Summary: Damien saw the reports. He saw the mangled corpse and watched the coffin be buried five feet in the dirt. Yet what is this chilling presence that stalks him day and night? One that even now, after three long years, won't let him rest.


**A/N: Yea, so I wrote this at 3am one night when I couldn't sleep and had been listening to scary stories to pass the time.**

**Figured I would post it because hey I found it to be pretty interesting and so maybe you guys will too. Consider it an early Halloween gift. **

**Enjoy!**

****South Park (c) Trey Parker and Matt Stone****

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><p>I didn't think he was real. He can't be. He's dead. Yet I can hear him call my name…<p>

**_Damien…_**

I snap my gaze to the right, feet pausing in their walk down the sidewalk. A chill washes up my spine, the feeling similar to that of a nail ghosting over bare flesh. Cold air brushes against the side of my cheek and I brush it off as the chill of Colorado.

_I just haven't been getting enough sleep,_ I tell myself, _Need to tell Ken that those all night Xbox plays need to tone down for a bit._

Rubbing my hands together for friction, I glance at the full body window of the shops as I pass them. The smooth surface harshly reflects an opaque copy of myself, the dark circles under my eyes contrasting sharply with my inhuman pale complexion; black irises popping out against the blood shot white surface they sit in, the weariness of the past few nights showing clearly on my unshaven face.

_It's the all night gaming,_ I remind myself as I continue down the snow coated gray path, _Just need to go to bed earlier._

Another shiver wracks through my body as the cold wind blows through my jacket and over my sides, an uncomfortable sense of something unknown latching into the core of my bones as goose bumps form along my arms and neck. Something moves in the corner of my eye but as I turn to look back at the glass only myself stares back.

Shaking my head I pull up my hood and tighten the strings, blocking all peripheral vision and forcing me to focus on the road ahead. Another cold blast of wind drifts across my face, from my chin to my lips. I recoil at the heavy feeling it held and quicken my pace towards home. Trying to ignore the thought that the movement and lingering wet chill—though not all that strange for this time of the year—oddly reminded me…of a tongue.

Such things shouldn't scare me. I'm the prince of hell goddamn it! There's no mortal, demon, or angel that can stand up to me! Yet…the undead have always had this uncanny knack for throwing me off this pillar of rightly justified confidence. Luckily most are quickly judged and don't last longer than two days on this mortal plane. Then there is HIM.

He never speaks, never breathes, and is rarely seen. I can't even detect him by my heightened senses. There's no way I can believe he's truly here. But, I can't be mad can I? No. No, that wouldn't make sense. A mad prince of darkness? Sure the amusing title is fitting by a mortal way of thought but is completely absurd. I'm quite evenly balanced in both body and mind. Excelling in both logic and sport, the living envy and desire of all humans who gaze upon me—all without even trying to earn these titles. No he just cannot be.

* * *

><p>Despite my earlier decision to retire to bed at an earlier time I find myself staying up past midnight well into the early hours of the morn. Neon stripes reading 3am sharply shine from the dark corner of the room where my bed sits. The dim glow of the TV barely chases away the shadows, the sound of gunfire filling my ears through the headphones and drowning out the deep quiet of the night.<p>

**_Damien…_**

I jolt out of my half-asleep daze and clear my throat. "What is it Ken?"

A deep hoarse throat replies, "What is what?"

I roll my eyes. "Smart ass. What'd you want?"

"I don't know what you're talking about dude. Have you found the flag yet?"

"Nope, I think it may be in another area. And, don't call my name like that then dude. It's creepy."

Kenny snorts from the other end of the connection. "I didn't say your name. You're the one who spoke up first."

I pause in my button mashing, surprise momentarily shocking me awake. "…You didn't say my name?"

My friends laughter echoes in my ears, a low sigh leaving his lips as he coughs. "I think you need to go to bed if you're starting to imagine me calling out your name. Pssh, not even if ya paid me pal."

The ends of my lips curve up into a smirk. "Oh right, forgot you give it out for free. Man-whore."

"That's man-_slut_ to you pal. I'm out. Peace."

Without replying I turn off the TV and Xbox, pulling the headphones from my head. I stretch my arms before stands, twisting my spine to crack the stiff joints created from sitting hunched for so long. A sudden wave of exhaustion seeps itself into my muscle and bones, making my eyelids droop as I navigate my way to my bed through the dark.

Carelessly I remove my shirt and toss it to the floor, hopping out of my jeans and pulling away my socks till only my boxers remain. I pause as my fingers grasp the hem, debating on whether or not to wear them to bed. I keep myself comfortably warm no matter how cold it is outside but…shaking my head I push them down and flop down onto the mattress, pulling the plush covers closer to my form.

**_Damien…_**

My muscles tense at the faint whisper and I glance around the darkness of my room that I face. Through the black I can see the outline of my door and the dresser beside it. A bookcase filled with novels, CDs, movies, and games sits in the far left—not a single thing out of place.

My heart begins to jump in its cage and taking a deep breath I roll over to face my window. Slight unease crawls through my veins as the silence continues, the emotion holding my heart delicately in its palm; threatening at any moment to harshly squeeze. I tug the covers over my mouth and nose, pulling the blue clothe tighter against my flesh.

**_Damien…_**

The beating in my chest increases as I hear my name. The syllables strung together by a voice I've long forgotten. I clench the covers tightly in my grasp. My mind quickly realizing there's one part of the room I've yet to check. Steeling my nerves I slowly sit up and turn to face my closet sitting directly across from the bed. Faintly I make out the white outlines of the paneled fold-open door, a sliver of darkness separating them from where they're bent slightly open. I narrow my gaze at the darkness, trying to focus my vision to hone in on the small area and peel the shadows away. My breathing hitches.

There's an eye staring back at me.

The uneasiness grows into fear, the muscles in my chest becoming painful with each beat. Cold anxiety shoots through my veins as dread settles in my stomach like a stone; the undeniable feeling that if I look away I'll unleash something awful into my room filling me from head to toe. The eye's gaze remains unwavering and as I continue to stare wide eyed at the thing I slowly start to make out the lack of shine that the living hold. The small iris merely a speak of black in a sea of red and white, the thin veins like spider webs weaved across the milky surface.

**_Damien…_**

I can hear it clearer now, a whisper coming from…from the closet. Gritting my teeth I bark back, "Leave!"

The silence that follows is deafening. The erratic beating of my heart begins to echo in my ears and I have the fleeting fear that this creature in my closet can hear it as well. Something snaps and I see the gleam of teeth appear in the dark.

**_I'm afraid I can't do that…_**

I back up against my headboard, the covers still tightly wrapped around myself. My eyes begin to tingle as the air dries them out, the slightly painful feel of pinpricks dancing across the lenses. I refuse to blink. All souls must obey me shouldn't they? I'm the bringer of the end. I won't be bested by a spirit.

"Leave!" I repeat, "I command you!"

Another snap and the mouth opens like a puppets slack jaw, the rest of its body swallowed by the dark.

**_I wish I could, love…_**

Realization hits me like a bucket of cold water and a shiver shoots up my spine. No, no, no! He is dead! His days on this plane should have run out long ago, it's just not possible. He can't be here! My eyes begin to burn but I refuse to look away; then something cold brushes against my arm. I instantly move and turn to bat whatever it is away, but my palm hits cool fabric and I blink the moisture back into my eyes. I freeze when I feel cool breath against the shell of my ear—the light touch sending a shiver up my spine. Holding my breath I glance out of the corner of my eye towards the closet.

Soft green eyes gaze at me, two emerald colored orbs held in an angular pretty-boy face that seem to contrast against the hay colored hair that frames the young man's head. I swiftly turn my gaze back to the window, my body beginning to shiver when I feel a cold hand grasp my shoulder. I know this appearance to be an illusion, a fabrication of what he use to be.

"Let go," I bite out. The spirit laughs, the tone dull and mechanical. Like air being forced through rusted pipes. "I can erase you from this plane," I threaten, "Send you to a place of inexistence. Worse than hell."

**_You already have…_**

I cringe at the coldness of the voice. So distant and emotionless that it's hard to pick up any change of tone. The difference so foreign from the kind, warm voice I remember falling from those lips. "You shouldn't be here," I continue, "Dad should have taken care of it by now." I tense as the hand slips over to caress my neck. "You shouldn't be here."

That horrid laughter returns, the detached sound breathed right into my ears. The coldness against my skin begins to burn as he presses his lips to the shell of my ear; a sign of affection having long lost its tender touch, now a cruel reminder of the youth I'd once known. "Pip," I breathe, causing the spirit to pause, "Stop." Cold fingers dig into the black curls at the base of my neck, all other movement pausing as the nails stab lightly at the pale flesh.

**_Stop…stop…Please…I…I don't…_**

His voice takes on the one he used to own as he speaks, his lips simply parting to create the sound—like a recording of a moment I'd rather forget and block away. It hadn't been my fault. I hadn't known what was going to happen when I'd gone home without him that day. Those final words I heard before shrugging off the kinder male to hurry on home. A fight caused by jealousy and pent up rage.

**_Please don't leave me alone…_**

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. But, I had. Left him there, knowing that there was a small chance that the other teens might have taken advantage of the situation. The blond had been a weakness, an advantage point to get to me. That was the reason I left him there. Alone. Hoping to strengthen my resolve to become stronger by cutting all ties. In all truth, it had worked. No one had anything to use as leverage against me anymore. The foreign sense of guilt eats away at my insides at the thought and I swiftly brush it aside. Everything has a price.

"That wasn't my fault," I say, "How was I to know what would happen?"

The spirit pulls the blanket from around my shoulders, allowing the fabric to pool around my lap. Cold lips press against my neck, the ends of his nails scratching lightly at my chest. I hiss at the touch, the sharp change in temperature causing my nerves to scream as their nearly frozen on the spot. I try to push the icy fingers away but my hands move straight through the thin limbs, his image shifting like smoke at my touch before remolding itself back into its shell.

I push myself flush against the headboard but the spirit stays close as I move, following my every twitch and shudder. Turning my head I meet his gaze, those green eyes that once seemed vibrant with unwavering optimism now dull like a dead fish's. A kind soft smile beams up at me from the deceased young man as I stare and I feel my heart skip a beat. With a grace he lacked while alive the blond slides over and straddles my covered lap, his hands gripping the headboard as he looms over me—the chill from his body slowly seeping into mine.

"Pip," I growl, gathering my bravo, "Get the fuck off of me. Now."

The spirit stiffens and a loud pop sounds through the room as he cocks his head to the side.

**_I hate that name…said by people who hate me…_**

His image becomes momentarily disorientated, like sudden static through a TV screen—the dull eyes gaining a tinge of red to their corners. That kind smile widens to resemble a Cheshire cat's, the dimples in his cheeks becoming more prominent as the muscles stretch.

**_Do you hate me Damien…_**

My eyes widen at the question, finding the icy tone of his voice disturbing as he states the words like a well-known fact. I start to shiver from the cold that seeps from the young man, my breath coming out in puffs. Gritting my teeth I call forth the flames that reside in my true home into my grasp. The crackling of the flames drowns out the mechanical laughter of the spirit as the smell of ash and sulfur assaults my nose. Red and orange dance in my vision, the flames burning only what I say. Pip's opaque form becomes more visible as the fire dances between us, sending a warm shift of color to fall over his see-through features.

The spirit's eyes momentarily widen in surprise at the show of power and I push my hands through his ghostly body. The fire grows in size and for the first time his eyes spark with what resembles life. A sneer grows on my face as he brings his arms down to wrap around his torso, eyes closed in a masked emotion of relief. I hate doing such things as they are below me, but all mortals must face judgment. It's simply sad that it has to be by my hands, for the only afterlife I can give him is one in hell.

Seconds tick by and my smile of victory falls into a frown of confusion. He should be fading away, flickering in and out like a bulb on its last leg, yet he still remains. I increase the temper, the flames beginning to lap at my sheets before coiling away to dance around the spirit they engulf. A red tinted ghostly hand reaches out and caresses my face; the fingertips surprisingly warm to the touch. Green eyes are barely outlined in the fire, the ends of them crinkled in mirth.

The confusion inside of me grows, the emotion steadily giving way to frustration and fear as another hand reaches out to gently cup my face.

"Why the fuck won't you leave?" I scream.

**_I wish I could…_**

The fire in my hands dies a little at that and my face softens as my muscles fall to show my puzzled train of thought. A single finger presses against my lips, the heat from it welcoming from the cold it once held.

**_Heaven, hell…neither want me…_**

He leans closer to my face, dull eyes stare straight into mine; the milky white surfaces bloodshot as dark bags begin to form around the sockets.

**_Is Damien going to throw me away again…_**

The skin on his left cheek begins to split. Invisible claws leaving behind angry cat-like marks starting from his jawline to his temple. The vibrant golden hue of the lush locks start to slowly become grayed, falling flat against his cranium as a small trickle of red blossoms from the side of his head—the liquid making it's way down his jaw and neck like a slow-paced stream. His neck slightly twists in an unsettling angle; his jaw falling slack as a loud, sickening pop meets my ears.

**_Please, let me go…no, s-stop…PLEASE…No, no no…_**

My eyes widen at his old voice. The words falling from open lips like a recording. One I've yet to hear.

**_Please s-s-stop…_**

Soft sobs meet my ears as the words flow, followed by the chattering of teeth. I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my ears to block out the scene unfolding in my mind. I know how it happened. I saw the report. Fuck, I even visit his grave! Still the sounds that fall from his lips echoes in my ears, the sound of something wet being squished together as something snaps—the symphony of noises worse now than anything I've heard while in hell. The chorus followed throughout with a loud rhythmic bang. Then as quickly as it started, it stopped. I carefully open my eyes to look at the spirit, feeling my heart drop at his appearance. The eyes fully bloodshot as nothing more than a black dot remains for the iris.

He tsks, the sound as hallow as his new laugh as he removes the finger from my lips.

**_What a bad friend you are…_**

"I didn't know that was going to happen!" I scream, "I…fuck, I wouldn't have left you alone if I knew they were going to do that."

Again he tsks.

"I didn't!" I protest, the foreign feeling of guilt and numbed misery causing my words to strain, "Fuck, you know I wouldn't have left if I'd known. Didn't you see how it tore me up? I still visit your grave!"

The horrible, vile echo of a chuckle meets my ears, the spirit pushing his face nose-to-nose with mine.

"I know you follow me," I continue, "I've felt your cold touch. I know you've seen."

His jaw pops back into place and slowly he speaks.

**_Give me your heat…_**

Immediately the spirit grabs my hands and slams them against the headboard. I flinch at the both the impact and surprising strength Pip holds, his grip tightening around my wrists in an almost painful hold.

**_Stay with me…never let me go…_**

I try to throw the young man off with no success, cool lips press against mine—the faint feel of a tongue running over my bottom lip. The heat he once held gradually ebbing away and leaving behind the cold chill he naturally holds. My breathing hitches when I feel the soft almost phantom touches of bare thighs straddling my hips, and as I glance down I find his form bare; his lower half disappears through the fabric pulled around my waist and I feel an old desire awaken in me. His hands slip up and intertwine with mine and I gingerly grasp the phantom limbs, afraid that if I'm too rough they'll faze right through me. Pip pulls back with an odd smile on his face, the grin unfamiliar and slightly ominous on his once sweet face.

**_Let me feel your heat, your fire, love…_**

A small smile forms on my face as he begins to kiss me again, even the growing chill of his skin not doing anything to extinguish my building desire for the young man on my bed; a typhoon of emotions I thought had long disappeared rising in my chest and making my heart swell. At his request I call forth the fires from hell into my hands and feel the warmth surge back into him. The flame spreads through his body, making his ghostly lips almost lifelike with their light touches.

My cock stirs to life as the heat lowers to his thighs, the position calling forth memories of a happier time before all of this. Before the fights, before the need to make it out on my own, before my responsibilities caught up to me, and before my heart had started to fade from his grasp. I gasp as I feel his body start to rut against mine, the kiss deepening as our teeth clasp and tongues come out to play. I grip the hands tighter as our bodies react to one another, delighted to find the palms and fingers to be firm and not fading away like smoke. Then, almost suddenly, the young man moves back, rising up on his hutches to gaze down at me.

With practiced ease he lines my erection with his entrance, a soft, warm smile forming on his face—I shove out the thought claiming it to be fake. The spirit leans down and presses another deep kiss upon my lips, the force behind it nearly stealing my breath away. We slowly part to allow me to breathe, and I become memorized by his face—lovely even after all of this.

"Phillip," I croak, pushing my forehead gently against his, "I love you."

The spirit clicks it's tongue and after another kiss pulls away.

**_I know you do…_**

He pushes his hips down onto mine and I moan as the warmth encases my cock, the rings of muscles squeezing me with such force it can almost border on painful. Pip's mouth reconnects with mine as he begins to move his hips and my mind drifts away to a place where all I can focus on is him.

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><p>The ringing of my alarm clock juts me awake and I toss the device to the floor after unsuccessfully turning the damn thing off. With a groan I lift my head from my pillow, unwrapping myself from the self-made cocoon. My body is sluggish as I stand up, and with sad eyes I glance back at the empty bed.<p>

_He isn't real,_ I tell myself as I walk over to my dresser, _You're deluding yourself, again._

Yet I can't help but shake the feeling that it was real—that I had felt him in my arms again, the heat of his skin and the warmth in his smile. I shake the thoughts from my mind, pull out some clothes, and begin to dress. Taking another glance at my bed I let out a weary sigh and head outside to attend my classes, something cold brushing against my lips.

It's just the chill of Colorado.


End file.
